Go Forth Young Man
by ProudAthena
Summary: MiniJack fic. No strict timeline but to keep it all above board it would have to be at least a couple of years down the track as Jack's clone is about 18.
1. Chapter 1

Sam answered the door on the second ring, carefully setting aside the book she'd been attempting to read for the last hour and a half and wondering who could be calling at this time on a Saturday afternoon. The young man on the other side of the door was tall, maybe a little over 6', and young, no more than 17 or 18. For a moment she was struck by something familiar about the level look he was giving her from deep brown eyes. It wasn't quite a challenge but he was certainly assessing her in a way Sam found slightly disconcerting given his age.

Apart from that look, he seemed fairly innocuous. Baggy shirt, cargo pants and sneakers; Sam smiled at the thought he was probably expressing his individuality just like all his friends. God, had she ever been that young?

'Can I help you?'

'Ah, Hi, I was actually wondering if I might be able to help you. I'm looking for yard work around here and I noticed your garden's a little … overgrown … at the front.'

Sam ruthlessly suppressed the blush his carefully chosen words evoked and glanced out over the straggly grass and rampant weeds of her front yard, particularly highlighted by its contrast with the carefully manicured order of her, mainly retired, neighbours'. _Hey, you try saving the planet every 10 minutes then see just how important your prize perennials really are!_

The young man handed over a card. _What am I doing thinking of him as a 'young man', he's no more than a boy! _ It was a simple white rectangle, with the words 'Yard-work & General Maintenance' and his name. John Owen. Despite that flash of familiarity she'd felt when first seeing him on her doorstep, the name didn't ring any bells so she dismissed her initial feelings. He obviously just had one of those faces. She could also see he'd scribbled a cell-phone number on the back.

'I'm still a student really but I like working outdoors and I figure the money will come in handy for when I go to college.'

Sam contemplated the serious but obviously nervous young man. _Stop it with the 'young man' business!_ It wasn't so much nerves, she decided, as a sort of studied nonchalance; as though he didn't want her to realise exactly how important this was to him. Remembering her own teenage years, the battle to be taken seriously and move out from under the long shadow of her father's career, Sam relented a little and smiled at him.

Accepting this as sufficient encouragement, he waved a diffident hand towards the end of the street and continued, 'I do work for the Major & Mrs Reynolds on the corner if you need a reference and I can give you some other numbers too if you'd like to check the standard of my work?'

'Okay, well, I'll certainly think about it, John. Um, thanks, I'll let you know.'

'You can reach me on that number pretty much anytime. I can't turn it on during school hours but if you leave a message I'll try and get back to you as soon as I can.'

He paused. 'Okay, well.' Running out of words, he made a move to leave before turning back to her from the edge of the porch.

'If you wanted, I could just do your lawn now and cut back some of the undergrowth around that hydrangea so it has a bit more room to spread out?'

He looked at her with that level look again and she knew she was fighting a losing battle. He was courteous, he was keen and she suspected he was hard-working too. Otherwise why would he be touting for business on a Saturday afternoon?

'Okay, but let me know your hourly rate and I'll pay you for any time you put in today. Depending how it goes then we'll decide whether I want you to do something more regularly.'

'Cool!' His whole face lit up, as though he'd been given a marvellous and totally unexpected gift. 'I'll just go and get my stuff. Be back in 15 minutes!'

……………..

True to his word, 15 minutes later she heard the stutter of qa mower in her front yard and glanced out to see him cutting a clean swathe through the leggy grass she hadn't cut since Easter, when her brother and his family had visited.

Taking the opportunity to watch covertly from her hidden position inside the cool shade of the house, Sam studied the lean youth as he pushed the mower back and forth. She decided he wasn't as skinny as she'd originally thought. He was actually sort of wiry, with a deceptive strength he was using to lug the mower around the small patch of grass. _Get a grip, Carter, is that any way to think about a child!_ She also found herself appreciating the care he was taking. He was avoiding what few plants she had and taking his time on the most overgrown patches of grass.

Before long he was finished with what she could now call her lawn, cutting off the mower engine and moving it over to the side-walk, nearer his battered old truck.

Just as she was thinking she should go back to her book (and the glass of wine she'd been enjoying with it) and leave him to get on with things, he swung his arms up and grabbed the back of his t-shirt, levering it forward over his head before throwing it through the window into the front cab of the truck. _Whoa! Not as much of a child as you thought then, Carter!_ Appalled at the visceral reaction she was having to the sight of a half-naked teenager, she raised the wine glass to her mouth and slugged half a glass back just as he turned and smiled at her. The sudden awareness that he'd known she was watching him was enough to make her gasp and blush to her toes. Turning away from that way too perceptive gaze, she moved into the kitchen and hyperventilated quietly to herself for a few moments. _Aaaaaarrrrrgggghhhhh. _


	2. Chapter 2

Thunk.

It felt good so she did it again

Thunk. Thunk.

Twice.

'That's gotta hurt.'

'And your point is?'

'Just sayin'.'

If shed ever put any thought into it, she might have thought that the front of her refrigerator would be cold, but it wasn't. It felt smooth and cool but definitely not cold. _That's because it's insulated, you idiot. _ The slight mechanical hum vibrating through her skull was pretty soothing though.

Sam finally pulled her head back from the front of her refrigerator and turned towards the back door. Silhouetted by the light behind, he was just an outline on the other side of the screen door.

'Hi.'

'Hi.' He paused. 'Um, I knocked on the front door but you mustn't have heard me.' _Nope, can't think how I might have missed that at all._ 'I've finished up the front yard and just wanted you to come have a look before I went. See if you wanted to schedule something more regular?'

Sam resisted the lure of the refrigerator against her frontal lobe again and moved towards the door.

'Okay, let's do this. What I saw before looked pretty good.' _What? Where the hell did that come from?_ She rushed on, 'I mean, your work looked pretty good. You obviously know what you're doing, attention to detail, careful when it matters, diligent.' She was rambling but her mind was on auto-pilot. _Carter! Get a grip!_ His face was too shadowed for her to see the grin but she could hear it in his voice when he spoke.

'Yeah, I've been told that before.'

Sam pushed on the screen door, making him step back a pace and put out her right hand. 'Sorry. I'm not normally this … 'she couldn't come up with the words to adequately describe her current emotional state of play. _Crash & Burn, Carter, Crash & Burn._ '… well, whatever, Sam Carter, pleased to meet you.'

His own hand came up to meet hers, hard elegant fingers sliding along her palm before he took it in his firm grip. _Wow!_ 'John Owen, pleased to meet you Mrs Carter.'

She could still hear the grin but it wasn't enough to stop her rising to the bait. 'It's Sam and it's **not** Mrs, it's Lieutenant Colonel Doctor.' His palm was dry and warm, even though she could see the sweat beading across his shoulders.

Releasing her hand he straightened and shot her a snappy salute. 'Yes Ma'am. Sorry, Ma'am. Won't happen again, Ma'am.'

'Very funny. If you've met Major Reynolds then I suspect you already knew that?'

'Might have.'

She let it drop. 'Anyway, it's Sam. When I'm not at work, it's just Sam. Let's go see what you've done out the front.'

……………………..

'Wow! This is amazing!' And she wasn't kidding; he'd done a really good job on the front of her lot. The grass was neat and he'd even trimmed the edges. The poor, strangled hydrangea bush had also been given some space and she noticed he'd removed a couple of dried out branches and some dead flowers from last year she hadn't quite got around to dealing with. 'Okay, I'm impressed. If you can do that in an hour, let's say I get you in for a couple of hours a week and you can do the back as well?'

'Well, I wasn't gonna say anything but now you mention it, your back-yard was kinda making the front look well kept.' She tried to fix him with a gimlet stare that would have had Siler sneaking for the door, but he wouldn't make eye contact with her. 'Sounds good to me. Does it matter which day I swing by?'

She gave up on the death glare. 'Not Really. You're lucky if you can catch me in most of the time. Saturdays are probably best and I'll just make arrangements with Mrs Reynolds to pay you if I know in advance I'm not going to be around.'

'Cool. See ya next Saturday then, Sam.' With a final grin and a vague wave he turned and headed back to his truck.

_Don't watch his butt, Carter, take the moral high ground here._

With a resigned sigh, Sam's eyes were drawn to the play of muscles down his back and the little dimples just above the point where the low slung khaki's hung off his hips. Her mind drifted and she wondered idly if his tan went all the way down. It was only when he went to pull the door shut that she realised he must have been watching her in the rear view mirror on the open door. And he certainly wasn't doing the studied nonchalance thing any more. _Smug bastard._

Sam ground her teeth, hoping the sun behind her would shield the stupid blush she just couldn't seem to control around the boy _(That's good, Carter, live the denial. It's always worked before, right?)_ and swivelled on her bare feet to head back into the house.

The refrigerator was singing her song again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note** – thank you to everyone for reading this piece and for those who've been kind enough to review and message in particular. I am **completely bowled over **by the support. This chapter is a bit more serious and speaks to John's motives. Hope you like it – and please, pretty please, let me know what you think, it keeps me motivated.

…………………………………………………………………….

Chapter 3

John nearly fell off the fence when Sam walked out her back door in cut-off denim shorts and a cropped white tank top.

He'd been trying to tie a passion-fruit vine onto the brand new trellis he'd just attached to the top of her fence and had one foot on the fence post with the other swung over the top of the trellis so he had both hands free for the fiddly job. Sam's sudden appearance was enough to make him let go of the vine, with the inevitable result that he was suddenly windmilling both arms to regain his balance_. Kinda caught you on the hop there, didn't she buddy!_

He'd been working on her garden for nearly 2 months now but he'd only seen Sam a couple of times. She didn't explain where she'd been on the weekends she wasn't around and he knew better than to actually ask her.

After the first time she'd been much calmer. She was never anything less than friendly but he knew she had herself ruthlessly under control. He hadn't been aware of her eyes following his body as he worked again but the fact she didn't ever get near enough that she might accidentally touch him made him think she wasn't completely indifferent either. She was just Sam being Sam; cutting out the things she couldn't control and that made him incredibly sad. Where was the man who should be her lover, the father of her children, the man who should have been holding her when she laughed and when she cried? _Jack O'Neill, I swear you **really** need your ass kicked_.

So that's why he was here instead. John, with youth **and** experience on his side, was willing to play a long game and, meanwhile he'd look after her in the myriad tiny ways he could. He'd make sure her lawn was mowed, he'd stake her passion-fruit vines, he'd rake the leaves and clean out her gutters when autumn came and in winter he'd clear the snow from her drive. Yep, John was settling himself in for the long haul.

Because making the decision to become John,the commitment to living that life, had meant saying goodbye to his friends. To them he was the clone and they still had Jack so essentially nothing changed but to him, at the time, he had still been Jack and it had hurt. They weren't just his friends, they'd been his family and it had hurt for a long time, a dull lonely ache that had followed him everywhere and coloured everything he tried to do. He had missed their company. Daniel's gentle and incisive intelligence, quick to anger but just as quick to forgive; Tealc's warrior outlook and the slightly bemused curiosity with which he faced the vagaries of this new planet and it's baffling diversity of occupants. But the hardest part, by a long way, had been missing Sam. He had had months when he'd thought his heart was literally broken; the pain as real and physical as any he'd ever experienced. He'd woken with it, carried it through his days and dreaded the nights for the dreams they sent him. Gentle dreams of stroking the hair from her face and letting her baffle him with science. Exhilarating dreams of being free to tell her he loved her, of the family they should have had and of allowing himself to grow old with her; to grow old together. And finally the sweet, earthy dreams of making love to her with a passion that had taxed even his newly teenage libido. But above and beyond all of this had been the dawning realisation, now she was gone from it, of exactly how central to every facet of his life Samantha Carter had actually become.

The defining moment had come a little over six months earlier when he'd finally given in to another issue that had been haunting his heart and sent a mail to Jack asking if he could possibly have a picture of Charlie. The reply had been terse. Jack would meet him after school one night and he could have his photo.

In fact Jack had taken him home, to a box containing a copy of every photo he had of Charlie as well as a small shirt that, when John closed his eyes, he could imagine still carried the trace of a child long dead. He had cried at the compassion of the gift and Jack had been appalled.

John had tried to explain the things he'd learned about himself, about the both of them, and Jack hadn't wanted to know. John had been left with the sad realisation that some of the best of who he was had come from having been Jack O'Neill but he was definitely on his own from here on in.

So he'd gone back to the warmth of his foster family, to the wise people who asked few questions but still managed to convey their utter faith in him and his ability to get through this, and allowed himself to settle into their wordless embrace. He moved on.

But he'd be **damned** if he'd let Jack screw up Sam's life just because he was too scared and tied up too tight in his own head to be able to make her as happy as she deserved to be.

So here he was.

Ever the practical tactician, he'd mapped out a plan of action and run with it. He wasn't in a hurry and he wasn't going anywhere.

Or at least he hadn't been, until Sam had walked out her back door in …not much.

So now, balance recovered, he was standing on top of a fence, swearing quietly to himself, his hands on his hips and gazing at a vine that had slithered out of reach while a half naked Carter sat on her porch and giggled at him. It was a situation that would have strained the patience of better ex-O'Neill's than him.

'**QUIT GIGGLING, get your BUTT OVER HERE and HELP ME!'**

_Aw Crap!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note** – just to clarify, John is in his late teens. He's old enough to drive (I checked the Colorado Springs Police Dept website) but not old enough to drink in Colorado where the legal age for drinking is 21. I'm not trying to subvert the genre by having John live with foster parents but I sort of felt that Jack would have enough self awareness to take what he could from having a second chance and he wouldn't turn his back on a new family, if it was a good one.

……………………….

'I'm sorry.'

'What for? Yelling at me? Don't worry about it. I've been around the air-force my entire life, one way or another. I've been yelled at before.' She grimaced. 'Hell, I work with people who regard yelling as a positive form of self-expression.'

John smirked. _No idea of whom she might be thinkin' there, John._

'It was still outa line though. My Mom says I have 'impulse control' issues.' He grimaced. 'I keep telling her it's not me, it's the rest of the world but I don't think she's buying it.' John screwed his face up in mock chagrin.

Sam laughed. Not a giggle but a real laugh. Throwing her head back and rocking so her feet came up off the step.

'Hey, it's not that funny!'

Sam finally got herself under control. 'I like the sound of your Mom!'

Vaguely affronted, John felt the need to clarify. 'She's actually my foster-Mom but I've called her Mom for nearly 3 years now.' He hurried on before she could put too much thought into that piece of information. 'She's pretty cool.'

John was still coming to grips with the fact that she didn't seem to have worked it out, even after the totally 'O'Neill' moment earlier. On one level he was relieved but part of him had to admit he'd like to have been able to be completely honest with her. The moment for honesty, however, had probably passed on her front doorstep 2 months ago and best not to dwell on it because he suspected if he'd told her who he was on that first day he wouldn't still be here. _Would that have been a good thing or not?_

On the up side, the little episode seemed to have unwound something in Sam and seeing her laugh was never going to be a bad thing as far as John was concerned.

Getting to her feet, Sam dusted off the rear of her cut-off's and shook her head 'John Owen, I suspect that someday in the not too distant future you're going to be breaking hearts. Meanwhile, can I get you a drink?'

Still digesting the first part of what she'd said and not sure whether to be flattered or insulted, John's eye-brow's shot north. 'Oh. Um, yeah. Sure.'

'I know you're not 21 so it's not going to be a beer but I can do diet soda, OJ or water.' She turned and headed back into the dark of the house.

'Um. Diet soda will be fine.'

John climbed the steps slowly behind her, not sure whether to follow or wait on the porch. He was still loitering indecisively when her voice floated out to him from somewhere inside. 'Come in, John, it's cooler in here and I promise I'm not going to bite.'

He stepped into her lounge from the kitchen when she waved him on through. Carter had always managed to convey the impression she was someone who could pack her life and leave at a moments notice but when you looked around her home you realised she'd actually made herself a pretty serious nest here. Everything was neat and ordered but there was a lot of … stuff. Everywhere. Books on shelves that ran from floor to ceiling around three sides of the room, a big squishy sofa and three armchairs both of which were also stacked high with books. The only thing that surprised him was the wall of photos opposite the fireplace. A jumble of different sizes and frames, many were pictures of her family; he could see Jacob in some and Mark in others. There were also a number of pictures of a blond woman he assumed was her mother. She didn't look as much like Carter as he'd thought she would. Same eyes and same way of tilting her head when she smiled but that was pretty much it as far as he could see.

It was the rest of the pictures that made his breath catch in the back of his throat. There were serious shots of medal ceremonies and awards, mixed in with more casual shots of the four of them at O'Malleys or elsewhere off-base. There were even a couple taken by Daniel on an off-world mission and obviously smuggled out of the mountain. How on earth she managed to explain the shadow of two giant moons in the back of those shots he had no idea. He would have smiled but one of the pictures in question showed Jack with Carter in a headlock, mugging it up for the camera by licking the side of her face while she laughed and tried to pull away. Another shot, possibly taken the same day, showed Teal'c holding a struggling Jack high above his head and had obviously been taken only moments before Jack was forced to take an impromptu swim. _If I remember going in the water, why don't I remember licking Carter's face?_

He was still transfixed by the pictures when Sam came in from the kitchen.

'Do you like them? It took me a whole weekend to put them up but I like having them there. Feels like my family is never too far away.'

'And these people are all your family?' He asked the question knowing what she'd say even before she said it.

'Yes.' No hesitation, no qualifications.

He had to turn away. 'Wow!' he whispered quietly, as much to himself as her.

She handed him a soda, her eyes on the pictures still. 'I know I'm not exactly related to a lot of these people but they're still my family. I've trusted my life to some of them and they've done the same with me. Most of them have seen me at my absolute worst and I've still known they loved me. To my mind, that makes them just as much my family as the ones I grew up with.'

She turned to face him. 'You said before that you live with a foster family, I'm assuming you don't have much in the way of real family yourself, John?'

'No.'

'I'm not going to pry but I wanted to show you my family because I hope, and I think, that one day you're family is going to be just as big.'

'I … ' he had to stop and clear his throat. 'I had … I lost … when I was 15 …' It wasn't much but she didn't seem to expect more. She just watched him. 'It made me grow up. Fast.'

He moved away from her. Needing to distance himself from the pain he could see reflected in her eyes. _Damn it_. For Sam, empathy had always been one of her ready gifts but he'd never liked it. Hadn't liked it before and didn't like it now. The line between compassion and pity was far too slender in his mind.

When he focussed his eyes, he realised he was looking at a rock on her mantle-shelf.

'What's this?' He picked it up and rolled it in his hand. It felt cool and smooth in his palm.

'It's a rock.'

He turned and gave her a half smile over his shoulder. 'Wise-ass. What's special about it?'

'Nothing. It's just a rock.'

'So why's it here? Why keep it?'

She took the rock out of his hand and closed her fingers around it. 'It's silly really. My team and I were on a … field trip. There was a lot of walking through not very interesting terrain. Sand and rock, dried river beds, that sort of thing. I think myself and Daniel, that's the guy with the glasses you can see in some of those pictures, might have been grumbling a bit about how there wasn't much to see and even less to do. Anyway, I noticed Jack, he's the tall one with grey hair, was kicking things in the dirt and the next thing you know I get a rock in the side of my knee. He laughed, so I kicked it back at him. Then Daniel piled in and the three of us kicked that rock at each other for six miles. We were all black and blue for weeks but it was some of the best fun I've had in my life.' She smiled at the memory. 'He wont admit it but Daniel still has a ping pong ball Jack threw at him after he beat him once.' John's eyebrows went up. Damn it had felt good to bounce that stupid ball off Daniel's head but he'd had no idea Danny kept the thing.

'So, this Jack….'

'He's the glue. He's what keeps us all together. It's like he balances us all out. Murray is serious, so Jack makes him take on the silly side of life. Daniel was a real geek when he first came on the team but he's kind of cool now and a lot of that's down to Jack's influence.'

'And what about you? What does he do for you?'

Sam looked up at him, searching his eyes for evidence he was being flippant but it wasn't there. He was deadly serious and he wanted to know.

'I'm not sure.' She looked down at the rock, still held in her hand. 'I used to think he flirted with me and that met some kind of need in me to be seen as more than a good little officer but it's more complicated than that. Besides, we don't really flirt any more. It's sort of got beyond that. If we flirted then we'd have to acknowledge we weren't doing anything else and that wouldn't necessarily be a healthy place for either of us to go.' She sighed. 'I think, for me, he lets me know that he cares unconditionally and I haven't had a lot of that in my life.'

She placed the rock back on the shelf and turned to him.

'So, John, what are you going to do with the rest of your life?'

………………………………….

Thanks for sticking with this, it is going somewhere, I promise – might be a few days before I can post again as I have to go out and earn a living…


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note** – Hi All, sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter. I struggled for a long time with how to bend all the characters I wanted into going the direction they needed to go. I then took a little break and wrote some other stuff (which some of you have very kindly read and reviewed – you are all lovely, lovely constructive & supportive people. I feel utterly cherished and admired so consider yourselves warm fuzzied!) to see if coming back to this piece would re-inspire. This chapter is actually more of a link but I promise the next chapter should be up in a day or so.

**Standard disclaimer applies – **characters are not mine and I know that.

This piece is just Jack. He's talking to himself. The bits in "plain text in quotation marks" are him speaking aloud. The bits in _"italics in quotation marks"_ are his brain. The bits in _italics but without quotation marks_ are his body. If that's all just too confusing, don't take it too seriously, read it and go with the flow. He's drunk, very drunk, but there's no-one else there but him.

………………………………………………………………………………….

Jack was asking himself exactly what sort of life he was living anyway?

And it wasn't purely rhetorical because he was actually putting some thought into it. Drunken thought, and that was another thing that happened more often than he'd care to admit to these days, but he still liked to think it was deep thought nonetheless.

Ninety percent of the time he quite liked his life. He loved his house, his job wasn't completely crap and he got to spend his time around good people who, mostly, appreciated him. And Carter was still laughing at his jokes; always a source of pleasure.

So why, on a fine, late Summer, Saturday afternoon, was Jack O'Neill sitting in his living room and drinking himself insensible? Yet again.

"You can lead a horse to water but you cannot make it … … think."

Okay. Maybe he'd had enough for today, he thought to himself as he drank the dregs from the bottle, resisting the temptation to stick his tongue in the neck for those last few drops.

"_Now don't let anybody actually catch you doing **that** anytime soon."_ Great. Now he was giving himself tips on how to avoid looking like a total drunk.

"AA here we come."

"_Shut up!"_

"No."

"_Right! This stops **NOW**!"_ his brain told his body, which was jolted into action by the ferocity of the mental attack. Upright, and swaying only slightly, his body awaited further instructions. His brain was too busy congratulating itself on getting the rest of him vertical to formulate any sort of structured plan for the moment so Jack headed for the door, figuring he'd just get a head start, so to speak.

He was halfway to his truck when Brain realised what he was up to. "_Hey! What the hell?"_

Body halted, over-correcting for the continuing forward momentum and then having to hold onto the mail-box for support.

Brain continued, in a slightly hysterical tone, "_You can **not** drive in this state! **You'll kill yourself!"**_

_Too bad, so sad._

"_**You'll kill someone else!"**_

_Can I pick who?_

'_**NO!'**_

Brain and body reached an impasse before brain realised something else. "_You haven't got the keys anyway."_

_Aw, Crap._

Brain reasserted itself. "_Did you shut the front door?"_

_Yes._

Body did its best to match brain in the sarcasm stakes.

Brain said nothing, just letting the rest of him work it out for himself.

"Aw, Crap."

Brain decided it might be a good time to go to the 'happy place' while Jack's legs set off in the direction of the nearest person he knew with a key to his house.

………………………………………

Sorry this chapter is so short but anybody have any idea who Jack might just be about to run into at Sam's place on a fine, late Summer, Saturday afternoon?……


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note** – Thank you everyone for your patience. This chapter has proved harder to write than some of the others but I'll explain more at the end._

_**Standard Disclaimer applies.**_

………………………………………………………

'Ya know, Sam, your Jack sure is one grumpy old fart.' John was feeling evil but he also wanted to know which bit of that particular understatement Samantha Carter was going to object to first. The two of them were standing over the sofa in Sam's living room, looking down at an unconscious Jack O'Neill.

'He's not old.' John congratulated himself on a mental $10 win. 'But the grumpy part … that, I'll let you have.' Sam sighed. Sometimes it was harder than others to hold onto the reasons she'd carried a torch for this man for the best part of 10 years; particularly when he was passed out on her sofa in a drunken stupor after unsuccessfully attempting to cause grievous bodily harm to her gardener. 'Shoot first, send flowers later' she mused to herself, looking at him snoring quietly with his head hanging over the edge of the sofa cushions.

She hoped Jack wasn't going to throw up on her floor because he'd sure as hell be cleaning up after himself if he did.

Sam turned back to John, who'd helped her drag Jack inside once he'd passed out in her back yard and was still mentally wrestling with the fact that she wasn't even going to touch the 'your Jack' issue. 'You okay?'

She'd been surprised, not only by the fact John hadn't appeared too fazed by the drunken and virtually incoherent lunatic who had rounded on him, seemingly from nowhere, but by the neat precision with which he'd managed to fend Jack off. Even drunk, Jack was no pushover but John had held his own with economy and actually tried to talk sense at the same time. When that had proved impossible, he'd overpowered the older man with an efficiency she would have found admirable in some of her more highly trained colleagues, let alone the average 18 year old. When John just nodded, without making eye contact, she gave a rueful shake of her head 'John, where on earth did you learn to look after yourself like that?'

John smiled at the euphemism, 'Mis-spent youth.' he wasn't going to elaborate and to Sam's further surprise there was absolutely no trace of the pride in his answer. He grimaced at his own triteness. 'It wasn't exactly difficult. I suspect the alcohol did most of the work for me.'

Sam shook her head in bemusement. 'Tell me again why you're not joining the Air Force, John? Because I'm telling you now, even without a recommendation from me, they would snap you up.' They'd talked about it all those weeks before and, ever since, Sam just hadn't seemed able to let it go. She wasn't normally the type to extol the virtues of military life, herself all too uncomfortably aware of its pitfalls, but there was something about John made her feel he might be capable of making it work for him rather than entirely the other way around.

John's eyes didn't lift from the lanky figure currently sprawled across the sofa. 'Oh yeah, and I can see what outstanding examples of humanity a lifetime with the Air Force produces, Sam.'

He was sickeningly aware of self-loathing and pity, not entirely sure whether he hated himself or Jack most just at the moment. He only knew he had no intention of indulging either emotion. 'Gimme some credit here. Is it really so hard to imagine that all I could want is to be a nice, normal person with a nice, normal life? Anything else is just icing on the cake, Sam.' He had no intention of making himself any more vulnerable than he already was by admitting he wanted the chance to love and be loved and the hope of a family he wouldn't screw up.

He knew it got to her; the unacceptable, at least to her, perception that he had absolutely no ambition so, without putting too much thought into it, he found himself blurting out the first thing that came to mind. 'And I gotta say, if this guy is one of your 'family' then your family's dysfunctional, and no way in hell do I want that.' John could have kicked himself. Was he ever going to drop Jack's habit of making asinine and inappropriate comments at the worst possible moments?

Trying to overcome the feeling that she was shoring up the Leaning Tower of Pisa with matchsticks, Sam defended Jack's character. 'You're not exactly seeing him at his best, you know.'

John shot her another of his too wise for his years looks 'Yeah? But neither are you.'

Not appreciating the sensation that she was being out-manoeuvred once again, Sam's voice was low and serious, 'John, you don't know this man. Not what he's been through, not what he's been forced to deal with, not the pressures he exerts on himself and certainly not how I feel about him. So don't you dare judge him on one afternoon's behaviour.'

The statement, and its delivery, was too much and on too many levels, for John to want to analyse and, not happy to back down but uncomfortably aware he'd overstepped Sam's boundaries as well as those he imposed on himself, John was thrown onto the back foot.

'I'm sorry, you're right, I don't have any right to judge him.' He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and gazed at his feet for a moment, hating himself all over again for the subterfuge, before lifting his eyes back to meet Sam's. 'But he certainly thought he knew enough about me, so what was all that about, Sam?'

Despite, or maybe even because of, the seriousness of the moment and the desolation all too apparent on Sam's face, he couldn't stop himself from voicing the words that sprang to mind. 'Do ya think your 'glue' mighta come just a little un-stuck?' The corners of his mouth drew up slightly, the merest intimation of a familiar smile if only Sam had been in any condition to recognise it.

Smiling back at him in spite of herself but still at a loss for real answers, Sam blew out a sharp breath of defeat. 'I don't know, John, but unless you want to go through the whole thing all over again, I'd suggest you make tracks now. Him,' she straight armed at Jack on the sofa, 'I can deal with but I don't think I can cope with another round of the two of you squaring off.'

………………………………………………..

_Thanks again for everyone's patience with me. I'm not sure how long it's likely to be before I can get this updated again as I found out last week that my position at work (which I love) is being made redundant and it's knocked me a bit flat. I will post more as soon as I can. Thanks for the lovely reviews too – I appreciate the support. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note** - thank you again to everyone for your reviews, patience and messages of kindness. I didnt think I'd feel inspired to continue writing again so soon but here's another chapter. I'm also half way through the next chapter so, provided I can find the time to finish it over the weekend, that should be posted by Monday as well.

Disclaimer as per previous chapters.

Even at his most relaxed, Jack was never one to drift slowly from sleep. He was either asleep or he wasn't and right at this moment, having made the transition, he was taking the time to assess his surroundings before deciding whether any sort of immediate action was likely to be required.

His initial assessment gave him only the information that he had a splitting headache, his stomach wasn't entirely solid and he really needed to pee. Since this wasn't a completely unfamiliar state, he pretty much disregarded it and moved on to a more detailed analysis of his surroundings.

He was at Carter's house. He knew this because, without moving his head, he recognised her coffee table and the fireplace behind. His stomach lurched and he closed his eyes for a moment to control it before risking another look. Probably best not to throw up in Carter's lounge; he'd never hear the end of it if he did.

Moving his gaze along the coffee table he realised that she was actually sitting in one of the lounge chairs to his left and resting her feet on the table directly in front of him. From his position on the sofa he could only see her legs from the knee down and to his very slight surprise he noted that she had painted her toe-nails with sparkling blue nail polish. There was a fleeting moment when Jack wondered if there were air force regulations to give guidance on the appropriate colour for polish on toes. If he ever bothered to look hard enough he'd probably find something relevant but personally he couldn't have cared less. They were nice feet, at least in his humble opinion, and he thought the sparkly blue toe-nails were a nice touch.

Jack had a sudden and overwhelming urge to reach out and stroke one of her feet. It wasn't an overtly sexual pull, just a moment of absolute tactile compulsion to touch her. To run his fingers over the tendons on top of her foot, to circle her ankle with the length of his thumb and fore-finger and hold onto her strength and grace for all he was worth.

"I know you're awake."

Reality lurched back with a thump. Jack had been a married man for long enough in his life to understand, just from the tone of those four words, that he shouldn't expect to enjoy the way this conversation was heading.

A layer of oily fear added itself to the rolling discomfort in this gut and he groaned.

"Do you remember anything at all about how you got here or what you did then?"

All too aware that Sam Carter, the best 2IC he'd ever had (or never had, depending on his mood at any given time), understood him well enough to know that another groan at this point would just be a delaying tactic, Jack growled, his voice rough from drink and sleep "Locked myself outta my damn house and walked here because you've got my spare key and you live closer than Danny."

Sam was actually relieved. She'd already checked up and down the street for his truck and the rational part of her brain had been anxiously hoping he had neither driven the thing nor abandoned it somewhere else before making his way to her house.

"And the rest, Sir."

Not a question and she'd used the magic word. The magic word he'd learned a long, long time ago that coming from Samantha Carter's mouth was all about distance and nothing at all to do with submission.

Not a good sign at all.

Jack levered himself into a sitting position and leaned forward, running his fingers roughly through his hair before coming to rest with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. From that angle he watched Sam remove her feet from the coffee table and cross her legs away from him. He knew she hadn't intended the movement to be anything remotely approaching arousing but it was still a nice move and he hoped he'd never be too old or hung-over to appreciate it.

Jack unfolding himself from her sofa too had momentarily transfixed Sam. She fought the familiar, weary struggle with her own emotions and let her gaze settle on the view out of her back window. The last few rays of the setting sun gilded the mountains rising in the distance behind her house and she sighed.

Whether it was in response to the sigh, her defensive posture or just him feeling particularly ornery, Jack felt the need to push back.

"Exactly what the hell was he doing in your back yard?"

"And exactly what business do you choose to make that of yours?" Her response was as quick and as vicious as a whip cracking in the quiet of her cosy home.

"Christ, Carter, if I'd known you were that curious to find out what I looked like when I was 18, all you had to do was ask and I woulda shown you a photograph."

Jack was suddenly weary. His anger spent, and unwilling now to meet her eyes for fear of the pity he always anticipated was lurking there if only he'd choose to see it. Unconsciously he scrubbed his long fingers over his face as though absorbing the feel of the bones so close beneath the flesh. He stood.

"Where are you going?"

He could see the confusion on her face but misinterpreted it completely.

"I gotta pee, Carter."

When he came back from the bathroom she was standing, her arms folded, staring intently at the wall of photos opposite the fireplace. She made no move towards him when he came and stood beside her.

"Gimme a minute, Sir, and I'll drive you home."

But she didn't move, her eyes fixed on a picture of him and Daniel taken at O'Malley's on some team night more years ago now than he'd care to calculate; long enough ago that his hair seemed, by comparison to its present almost solid grey, implausibly brown.

Jack took the chance to examine her face in profile. He was aware that the infinite tenderness she provoked in him was something akin to the feeling he'd had the first time he ever watched Charlie sleep, and never without a degree of the same pain.

"I'm such a fool, Jack." The words were spoken so quietly he almost missed them, pulled from some part of her psyche she didn't really want to examine closely. "I can't believe I didn't realise."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note** – another short chapter because I was half way through the whole three way confrontation scene and it occurred to me that it might be nice to see how Sam and Jack react before John comes back on the scene. So here it is…_

_**Disclaimer** – as per previous chapters. You know the score._

…………………………………….

Jack was someone who needed to be needed. Appreciating that fact about himself didn't mean he particularly liked it, but he was self-aware enough to recognise he did his best work when he could be said to be 'emotionally engaged with the subject at hand.'

And it helped that he had long arms.

Forget having a cool head in a crisis, although as it happens he had one of those as well, because long arms were really where it was at.

He also knew that, for however short or rare a moment it was, Samantha Carter's need for him to do so outweighed the pain of actually holding her. Holding her and surrounding her with his long arms and his reassurance that it would all be okay.

And this time his demons hadn't even compelled him to offer the usual verbal surrender. He'd just gathered her in, tucked her head into his neck and lowered his cheek onto her hair.

When Sam finally lifted her face from his now damp shoulder and stepped out of his embrace, he'd fully expected to see embarrassment and shame for her loss of control, possibly combined with a healthy dose of self-loathing. He'd been prepared for that and had already marshalled his mental resources to offer her whatever comfort she needed.

"You are such a bastard."

"What?"

"He's you. He has your memories. He has your emotions and motives. Don't tell me you didn't see this coming."

Not **self** loathing then.

"I should have realised when he shouted at me."

"He shouted at you?"

"Oh, don't give me that look. You shout at me all the time."

Jack's brain was still stuck somewhere back in to the reality where she needed his compassion and understanding.

"And I guess the only reason I didn't pick up on it right then was because I was too busy being distracted by the fact he had his shirt off."

Jack smirked, despite an odd pang in the region of his heart and an answering echo in the pit of his stomach at the thought of her ogling anyone, even his younger self. "I like to think I've improved with age, Carter."

She returned him a level look. "Don't flatter yourself too much. He works out. Seriously. And he's spent a lot of time this summer working on his tan in my back yard."

It was a verbal slap in the face.

Jack then had to watch as Sam allowed herself a lazy smile of remembered lust, knowing she was doing it on purpose and probably solely to piss him off but still helpless in the grip of his own insecurities. "I think we're getting a little off topic here, Carter."

"Gimme a minute, Sir."

"CARTER!"

She glared at him. "I'm still blaming you."

Jack threw his hands up in surrender. "Whatever!"

There was a quiet moment while they separately cooled off and digested the situation.

"Okay, Jack, I think you need to go have a shower while I ring him and get him over here. We, and I mean all three of us, need to talk."

Jack debated whether to take issue with the whole name thing but decided he was in so far over his head here it was probably not something he wanted to expend a lot of energy on.

"What are you saying, Colonel?"

She gave him the pissy look again. "I'm saying you spent God knows how many hours drinking yourself into oblivion, then walked to my place, got involved in a less than awe inspiring … confrontation," Jack winced at the slur on his combat abilities "and then passed out. Work it out for yourself."

"Fine." Jack decided to cut his losses and stalked back towards the bathroom. There was only so much he could take and at this particular moment in time he was feeling like his ego had been attacked with a machete.

"Towels are in the cupboard in the hall."

"Can I use your toothbrush?"

"NO!"

"Just askin'"

He grinned. Nice to know there were still some boundaries.


End file.
